Oaths and Daggers
by NoviceFanFic
Summary: Prequel type to Is There Forever - certainly can stand alone. Mostly a little back story, probably several one shot type scenes. Spoilers, of course. I make no claim to Dragon Age - but am grateful for their backstory
1. Chapter 1

There it was, the moment Zevran knew his oath of loyalty was not finished. As he watched the newly crowned king list off the things he would be willing to bestow upon Isabelle, there was one thing missing. What she wanted. She wanted to be with the king. Isabelle loved Alistair, and Zevran had been graced (cursed) with front row tickets to the spectacle that was their courtship. Part of him had been entertained by the simplicity of it, a mage and ex-Templar. They were young, inexperienced and clumsy. All the winks, coos and purrs warmed a weird forgotten place in his heart. When it came time to choose a new king, Zevran had thought Alistair would sweep Isabelle into his arms and they'd ride off into the sunset. All those dreams came to a screeching halt when Alistair came into the gathering room and, in front of all of her friends, shattered her heart.

Up there on the dais Alistair asked her to pick a boon. Her answer was not audible, Zevran could see that the air has been sucked out of her lungs while she stammered something. He watched as Alistair leaned over and whispered so only she could hear. You didn't have to be a sneaky assassin to know what he was asking of her, but it helped. The rose tint that came to Isabelle's cheek and the tiny hint of hope and an unsure smile danced on the edges of her lips. He'd asked her to meet him upstairs after everything was over.

_Prick. _

Zevran watched as Isabelle stepped down and made her way around the room. She looked stunning. Her auburn curls had been stacked loosely on top of her head with a few left around her face to soften the features. The curl he'd watched her blow out of her eyes countless times still taunted her face. Someone had poured her into a lovely golden gown with blue trim. The crinoline under the skirt gave her a floating appearance. The dress accentuated all of her positives. He'd tried to see if she'd had any negatives over the last several months and had come up short. Isabelle was sweet, giving, funny - she had a wit about her that would make a Silent Sister laugh.

Despite his constant coaching, Zevran had yet to be able to teach her how to separate her heart from her nether regions. Over time she'd come to confide in him. The gesture at first had confused him, but who could refuse the company of such a beauty. They'd spend nights around the campfire talking about life and dreams. He'd spent those same nights trying to come up with ways of convincing Isabelle to let him bury his...dagger...in her, but eventually there came a time when he cared for her more than just a lustful icon. She became his friend. She was innocent and quite possibly about to make the worst decision of her life. Maybe second worse. She had just made Alistair king. Zevran knew he had to do something. She deserved more.

"Ah Bella." Zevran said as he swooped in next to her, his right arm going around the small of her back to rest his hand on her upper hip. "That gown looks absolutely ravishing..."

Isabelle gave a little eye-roll and a devious grin. She tucked herself into his side. "Oh and I'm sure your next sentence will be..." She cleared her throat and used her best Antivan accent, "...it would look even more ravishing in a pile on the floor of my room."

"Actually I was going to say cut off your body in thin strips by a very cold dagger..." Zevran looked at his fingernails examining them nonchalantly. "...and then left in a pile on the floor in my room..."

Isabelle's breath caught in her throat. Blink. Blink. Sigh. "Thank you, Zev. That was absolutely awesome. I'm going to remember that one."

"Anything for you Bella." Zevran laughed. "Oghren and I are going to be leaving shortly to go to the Pearl for a little drunken debauchery. This courtly business is best left to the nobles, yes?" Zevran watched for her to cringe slightly, which she did. "Come with us. You can even wear that fantastic dress..."

"I...uh..." Isabelle's eyes shifted nervously. "...have plans for after...this."

"My dear Bella, you should be standing up there with him, not sneaking upstairs afterward." Zevran said, leaning in close to her ear. He took a quick peek over his shoulder to see if Alistair was watching them. He was.

_Correction, Royal Prick._

Isabelle's face fell. "How did you...?" She started to tremble slightly.

"Do not let him see you cry." Zevran hissed. "There will be time for tears later. Now, quickly, smile and laugh like I just said something roguishly funny." He quickly spun her around and faced her towards him, placing his hands on the sides of her hips.

Isabelle brought up both of her hands to cover her lips with her fingertips. "Well, your use of the word 'roguishly' is kind of funny." She laughed. Then, as if she finally realized the plan, she twittered and placed an 'oh stop it' hand to his chest. Through very clinched teeth and a pressed giggle she said, "Maybe I should stay. Maybe things will change."

Zevran leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "Bella, look at him. He is a boy made king. He lacks the bravery to face an entire kingdom for his heart. Do you really want to stay here and have your heart broken every night?"

Isabelle turned to look over her shoulder at Alistair, "Zev, I don't know if I can just walk away, I'm not sure I have the strength."

"Then we will find your strength," Zevran said as he gingerly turned her face back towards him and brushed her rogue curl from her eye. He could feel Alistair's glare burning. "Even if it means drinking the entire store of ale in the Pearl." He brushed the side of her face gently with his thumb. "If tomorrow you're still content to be his secret, you can return. Let him sleep alone tonight. Now, go. See your adoring fans, Hero of Ferelden. After the crowd clears grab on to Oghren's beard and do not let go. I don't want him wandering off and drowning in his own vomit and I don't want you sneaking upstairs."

"...but my things..." Isabelle started to protest.

"Leave that to me." Zevran winked. As Isabelle turned to leave, he gave her hindquarters a smack. Her squeal of pain made his grin wider. He turned around and gave Alistair a very level and smug look.

_Now if I were a mistress...how would I sneak upstairs?_


	2. Chapter 2

Castles were made for sneaking. Long dark hallways and twisting staircases were practically designed for mistresses and assassins alike to go unnoticed. Zevran was actually quite disappointed at how easily he slipped into Isabelle's room. He had at least hoped for a breath holding moment hiding behind a suit of armor or something, but no, he made it unscathed.

Zevran worked quickly. He grabbed a leather satchel and started filling it. He was grateful that robes easily fit and took up little space. He paused momentarily to admire her unmentionables. Zevran grabbed her staff and caught a glance of himself in the long mirror. He cocked an eyebrow, held the staff, and appreciated his reflection. _Dashing. I'd be a terrible mage, but a dashing one._ He thought to himself. He turned to leave when a small knock came to the door and it started opening.

"Isabelle?" Alistair's voice beckoned softly around the door. "I'm sorry, love, it took me longer than I expected to get away."

Zevran hesitated and a brief thought of trying to imitate Isabelle's voice fluttered through his mind. He stifled a giggle. Instead he turned to face the voice and stood regally with the staff to his side. "Bah. You were too quick, Alistair, I've not even been able to get the robe on yet." Zevran gave a bashful shoo motion with his hand. "Go back out and give me a few minutes..." Unfortunately comedic flirtations were not going to get him out of this one.

The door flung open and hit the wall with a resonating crack. "Zevran! What are you doing in here?" Alistair looked around the room angry. "Where is Isabelle?"

"Ah, keeping Oghren from drowning, I hope." Zevran said with all honesty. "I am merely here gathering her things....saving her from herself, as it were." He probably didn't need to add the last part, but twisting daggers was one of the things he did best.

Alistair's face went dark. "You've got no right to be here or interfere."

"You, Alistair, are the one without rights here." Zevran said with a small bow. "You cannot, no you should not expect her to stay."

"We love each other, Zevran, or did you miss all that back in camp?"

"Nothing was missed. Neither of you are particularly quiet....but I digress. Love is not what this is." He said with a small motion around the dark room. "This is deception and dirty. This is heart wrenching and teasing. This is torture, and you're expecting Bella...Isabelle...to just abide."

"What do you know about torture? ...never mind..." Alistair ended the question when he saw Zevran's eyebrows raise suggestively. "I have a duty to my kingdom..." He said hesitantly.

"And what of your duty to Isabelle? If you cannot be proud of her and marry her, then let her go." Zevran's voice was calm and purposeful. "I know that it will hurt. She is magnificent, but if your duty to your kingdom is more. Let. Her. Go."

"No." Alistair said putting a frustrated hand to his forehead. "I...I...need her."

Zevran started to get irritated. "No? Really? No? This isn't about YOU, Alistair. You said it yourself, you are expected to produce and heir. You have also made it clear that you are not going to make that heir with Isabelle. Do you think it is fair to have her watch? She wants to be with you – at your side, not in your shadow."

"Lots of kings..." Alistair started and stopped. "We could be happy. We would have each other."

"Your mother was Maric's dirty little secret." Zevran hissed and twisted the dagger a bit more. "Would you really ask that of her?"

Zevran's guard was down as he stood their with his former traveling companion. Perhaps that his how he missed it. The sound of fist to face echoed against the stone walls as Alistair brought his right hook across Zevran's left cheek. It was enough to cause him to lose his footing and fall back on the floor. He leaned up on his right hand while his left hand examined the goose-egged area already forming below his eye. He supposed he deserved that, but Isabelle still deserved more.

"So you would expect her to endure it, just like that?" Zevran said as he pulled himself up to his feet.

"Just...like...that..." Alistair said slowly, shaking his right hand out. "After everything....we've been through." He ran his uninjured hand through his hair. "I...just...don't want it to end."

"You sought each other out in a time of war, a time of uncertainty. That war and that uncertainty are coming to an end."

"But...I..." Alistair trailed off and paced a bit.

"Tonight, she is not yours. Tomorrow may be a different story. Give her tonight." Zevran said, as he picked up the staff and pulled the satchel across his shoulder. "Tomorrow you may wake up...a little blue...but none the worse for wear."

"I'm not going to just GIVE her to you." Alistair said, and took a step towards Zevran.

Flippantly, Zevran said, "Bah, idiot. She's not something to give or take or keep. If I'd had intentions for her affections, this conversation would never have taken place."

"What if she doesn't come back?" Alistair said, as he sat on the end of the bed, sounding almost childlike. He buried his face in his hands.

"Then perhaps that is a harsh reality you'll need to endure, my friend." Zevran said with an almost sympathetic pat to the shoulder. "Bella is already enduring hers..." He left Alistair to his misery and slipped back out the door to begin the task of sneaking out.

Finding Isabelle was easy. The crowd had cleared and she was outside in the street holding onto Oghren's beard as he tried to wander off aimlessly down the street. She almost looked like she was trying to hold back a leashed Mabari the way she had her heals dug in and the way Oghren was trying to pull away from her. The fact she was in the fancy golden dress made it even more comical.

"You know I didn't mean it so literally, Bella." Zevran said as he reached the duo.

Isabelle let go of Oghren's beard and he flopped forward onto the road. He giggled gutturally and pushed his way back up to his feet and began walking again.

"He's like a homing pigeon. He knows how to get to the Pearl." Zevran said as he got in step behind the staggering Oghren.

Isabelle looked back disheartened over her shoulder. She crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. "I just wish it could be different."

"Oh it will be different, Bella. The Pearl is certainly different." Zevran mused and put an arm around her waist and tucked her in. He was still walking sage-like with the staff in the other hand.

"You know what I mean Zev." She said as she looked over towards him. She reached out and touched his cheek. "What happened?"

"I..uh..ran into a doorknob." He lied and held her hand against his face sweetly.

"Huh. I didn't realize doorknobs had such big fists." She responded and willed the swelling to subside.

Oghren the homing dwarf lead them exactly, albeit waveringly, to the Pearl. He practically fell through the door. Isabelle hesitated and tried to shrink back as people paused from what they were doing to look at the way she was dressed. Zevran recognized her insecurity and bowed towards her "My Lady." He said and held out and arm for her to hold. "Shall we?"

Isabelle took a deep breath and blew her rogue curl from her eye. "Lets." She said and took his arm as he lead her through the door.


	3. Chapter 3

They had been in The Pearl (as a group) exactly once in their recent travels. They didn't stay much longer past running out some riff raff and winning a card game with the duelist Isabela.

The Pearl was indeed something different. The smell of the place assaulted their senses. Stale air, body odor, and sex filled their noses. To Zevran it was comfort. To Isabelle it was repugnant. To Oghren it was booze. It was a night of celebration, and those not of the higher society had migrated here. There were very few, if any, women in the pub that were not employees. Rosie cheeked, buxom, and scantily clad ladies (and men) hung on their Johns and worked the room.

Zevran greeted the bartender like and old friend and acquired accommodations for the night. A young boy came and grabbed their bags and disappeared up the stairs after getting a sovereign from Zevran.

Isabelle tried to sit on a bar stool normally. The combination of too much crinoline, too many underskirts and some sort of hoop caused it to flip up, almost covering her face, and exposing her bloomers. She smiled to herself and hopped down. Never one to be defeated by clothing, she hiked up her skirts, revealing her bloomers again, and backed up to the bar stool. As she sat she dropped her skirts over the stool. She put her feet up under her on one of the rungs and they disappeared. If you hadn't watched the maneuver you may not have known the stool was even under her.

Oghren bellied up to the bar and ordered three ales.

The boning in the bodice of the dress prevented any sort of normal movement, but Isabelle shimmied herself around on the stool and put her forearms up on the bar. She tried to relax into it. She examined the ale put before her and raised it to her nose. Its bouquet had no appeal.

"Trust me. Drink, don't smell." Zevran said as he joined her at the bar on the opposite side of Isabelle than Oghren. He brought the brew to his lips and took a gulp.

Isabelle took a timid sip. Nasty. Just nasty.

"Drink the first one in big gulps. Makes the following ones easier." Oghren piped in while finishing his first ale already.

Isabelle opened her throat and tossed the ale back. She received an approval of a grunt from Oghren. She shuttered. "So is it going to be like this everywhere we go?"

Zevran raised an eyebrow over his mug. "You've decided then to leave?"

Isabelle shrugged. "It all depends if the ale is going to be this awful everywhere."

Oghren grunted again. "The closer we get to Orzamar the better it will be. Then it will get bad again."

"Fair enough," Isabelle said, starting on her second ale.

Isabelle finished the next brew almost as quickly as the first. About halfway through the third the three friends started venting. There were lots of "that jerk!!" and "how could he!?" By the forth, Isabelle regularly broke out into fits of laughter for no real good reason. She also started picking the pins out of her hair and flicking them at people which just added to the random fits of laughter. She then, several times, put her arms around Zevran and Oghren and said "Yer muh best freends. I love you guys. No, no, seriously." At one point, somewhere in the middle of the fifth, she burst into tears, big fat tear drops rolled down an almost comically sad face, but almost as quickly as it started, she broke into laughter again.

By the time it was all said and done, Isabelle's hair hung in odd angles around her face, and her once pretty gown was covered in random splats of alcohol. She was looking around the room with one eye as to not see two of everything – she also hooked her foot around the rung in the bar stool to keep from falling off. She was taking another lengthy gulp of her ale when a scruffy patron walked over towards her.

"Oi! I thought the whole theme wench was more of a Honeyed Peach thing!" He called over Isabelle's shoulder to the bartender as he gave Isabelle a long gaze. "Looks like we got ourselves a princess here."

The bartender shrugged, drying mugs with a dirty towel.

"Princess?" Isabelle said, looking over one-eyed towards Zevran.

"Yes. He thinks you work here." Zevran responded with a drunk smirk.

"Fairy princess??" Isabelle asked with a chuckle turning towards Oghren.

"I think just the regular kind." Oghren grinned into his mug.

"Oh," Isabelle said as the scruffy guy ran a coarse finger over the bare part of her upper back.

Isabelle was far past coherent, she was just plain gone. She shimmed herself around on the bar stool to face the patron. He was tallish, darkish, and handsome...ish – in a rugged I-just-got-dumped-by-the-king kinda way. He had a patch over his left eye – so she closed her right eye to mirror him. His five o'clock shadow had moved on to closer to nine-thirty. He licked his lips. She wiped her mouth of ale with her fancy sleeve.

"Avast ye!" Isabelle said, sort of. So gone. She leaned forward slightly to expose more cleavage or because she was about to fall off the bar stool. She re-hooked her foot in the rung of the chair and pulled herself back to upright. Her eyes blinked asymmetrically.

"Avast ye indeed." The man returned her greeting huskily and ran a finger across her chin line. "Have these men here already purchased your company for the evening?"

"These gentlemen? No, I've purchased theirs. I have a thing for elves and dwarfs." She laughed over her shoulder towards Oghren. "I do, however, also have a thing for pirates...if you're of a mind." She turned back and gave the patron what should have been a low sultry stare, but it was neither low nor sultry.

"Oh, I'm of a mind." He laughed, leaned in and tasted her earlobe.

Isabelle sighed. "Perfect. You can follow me to my room....wait...Zev, do I have a room?" She babbled in drunk nods towards Zevran.

"Of course, my dear princess, it is at the top of the stairs on the right." Zevran motioned towards the back stairs.

"Great. Follow me...um...pirate...guy. I've got like 100 buttons up the back of this thing, its going to take forever to get out of it." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the back of her dress and slid off the bar stool. As she started walking towards the stairs the stool tipped over underneath her skirt and drug along behind her for several feet until it finally slid its way out. Isabelle made her way up the stairs hands behind her neck blindly pulling at buttons.

Scruffy pirate guy licked his lips and turned to follow her. Zevran, however, had already appeared in front of him. "Not tonight, lover." He said with a grin.

"Out of my way, elf – I already asked if she was taken." The scruffy man said without even looking down to him. "If got something special in mind for her." His un-patched eye danced with thought.

Zevran's dagger was out and in his rib underneath his heart. "Like I said. Not tonight, lover."

The patron held up his hands and backed away. "I'm not here for trouble, friend, I will just get another girl." He took a few steps and upon seeing that Zevran had no intention to pursue, he dropped his arms, turned around, and walked away.

Zevran stumbled up the stairs and made his way to Isabelle's room. He found Isabelle kneeling at the windowsill. He thought for a second she was praying. Then she lurched forward and vomited out the window. Between holding her hair and the un-sympathetic nature of the bodice, she was practically falling out the window. He acted quickly. He moved in behind her and scooped her hair into his hands and held it out of the way. She was then able to concentrate on not falling.

"I think I just threw-up on pirate guy," Isabelle said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "Yes, hello!" She called out, gave a little wave and sank back in the window. "Ugh." She pulled at her dress and moved quickly back out the window to wretch again, her knuckles white on the ledge. "Zev...I can't breathe in this thing. Please help me with..."

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Buttons tinged and tanged their way across the floor of the room as Zevran took his dagger and ran it down the back of Isabelle's dress like peeling an apple. Between dry heaves she shook the sleeves off her arms and piled the dress in a pool beneath her knees. Bloomers and a thin undergarment across her chest gave her some modesty.

"Thank you," she said as she leaned her forehead forward on her hands still on the ledge. "I think you've done that before." She managed a small laugh.

"Once or twice," Zevran said re-sheathing the dagger.

"I am such an idiot, Zev." Isabelle said sitting up and leaning back on her knees. She looked up towards the ceiling and big tears started to escape. "I was such a fool. What do I know about duty?" She buried her face in her palms and sobbed. "I thought he loved me. I think...I think he was afraid of dying...alone. Truthfully I was too, but I still loved him."

Zevran moved up behind her, put his arms around her shoulders and tucked her beneath his chin. She turned and sobbed into his chest. He ran sympathetic fingers through tangled masses in her hair.

"I think I hate him," Isabelle finally managed to say between hiccuping sobs.

"Good," Zevran said. "Hate is a good place to start on the road to strength."

"Can we leave early?" Isabelle asked as she pulled back from Zevran's chest to look him in the face. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. "I don't want to see him before we leave."

"Of course. We can leave now if you'd like," he said, brushing the rogue curl from her eyes.

"Now is not a good time," Isabelle replied, turning towards the window to wretch again. Zevran was already holding her hair out of the way.


	4. Chapter 4

It was still dark, though closing in on dawn. Zevran sat on the end of the bed wearing only a simple pair of white cotton pants. He had started cutting the golden dress into strips with his dagger and piling it on the floor. It wasn't exactly what he meant when he said it earlier, but it worked out a certain amount of frustration that he was feeling. There was a beautiful woman asleep in his bed and there was a primal aspect of it that tugged at his...heart? He had promised himself, though, he would not console her in that way. The hole that Alistair had created in her soul would not be filled with sex, that would only confuse her and hurt her more.

Isabelle was fast asleep. She snored soft drunk little snorts and hiccups. After letting her cry, scream, and vomit for hours, she'd finally passed out. Zevran had scooped her up into his arms and moved her to the bed, tucking her in lightly. Now she talked in her sleep randomly. Her focus in the Fade moved from Alistair to pirate guy and back to Alistair. It was a confusing conversation that started with tears and tiny sobs to anger and obscenities. At one point she shouted "Ahoy!" and giggled softly.

After he'd completed his task with the dress, Isabelle began to stir slowly. Zevran watched the familiar fog, that accompanies heavy drinking, move in and lay heavy across her forehead. She had yet to open her eyes, but they scrunched and her eyebrows knitted in thought as she tried to replay the previous evening. First she touched her forehead in an attempt to ease the pain there, then she touched the sheets across her chest. A tiny hint of panic caught her face and she slowly lifted the sheets peeking through her eyelashes to see if she was still wearing clothes. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she realized that she was.

"Zev?" Isabelle sat up slowly, still holding her head and squinting her eyes shut. "Ugh, my head."

"Good morning, Bella," Zevran said, purposefully bright and happy.

"Shhhh...your happiness only makes me angry and nauseous," Isabelle replied, turning to dangle her feet off the side of the bed. She leaned forward and took a tentative attempt at getting to her feet and was visibly surprised she was successful. She walked over to the washbasin and splashed water in her face, she caught a glance at herself in the mirror. Her eyes and face were puffy and swollen from crying herself to sleep. Her hair was a matted mess.

She sat down in the chair in front of the mirror and began the painful task of brushing her hungover head. She winced at each tangle but eventually pulled the hair smooth. Zevran moved in behind her and took a ribbon from the table and tied her hair in a pony tail at the base of her skull.

"I smell," Isabelle said scrunching up her nose. "Did I eat cat litter last night?" She asked, smacking her lips together and willing a dry heave to subside. She put her elbows on the table in front of the mirror and buried her eyes in her palms.

Zevran chuckled softly at her question. "I don't think so, but it is questionable what they use to brew their ale, and who knows what they put in their..."

"Stop!" Isabelle moaned away another dry heave. She leaned back and rubbed her eyes.

Zevran moved hands up to the back of her neck and rubbed gently between neck and shoulders. Isabelle dropped her arms and relaxed. Her head slumped forward slightly.

"Thank you," she sighed. "Do you think I have time for a bath before we leave?" She looked up over her shoulder at him.

"Ah, Bella," he trailed off a bit and hesitated a moment. "This isn't the sort of establishment that you should bathe in..."

"Oh," she swallowed hard looking a little green. "I'll just clean up as much as I can in the washbasin and we'll leave."

Zevran patted her shoulders. "I'll give you some privacy and go see if I can pull Oghren out from under a table and get him ready to go. We'll stop some place tonight with a better reputation and you can bathe to your heart's content."

****

Isabelle stepped out into the street in front of The Pearl. Dawn was spilling up over the horizon and the gray shade of night was slowly dissolving. She'd dressed in some of her favorite maroon mage robes. They were soft, comfortable and moved smoothly when she walked. She reached up over her head and stretched long, standing on her tiptoes. She took a deep cleansing breath and whistled loud and shrill. Within a few minutes a large brown Mabari rounded a corner towards her, tongue lolling and nub wagging.

Isabelle took a knee and reached out to the dog. "Hey Mage Slayer." It was more a title than a name. She skritched his ears. "Are you up for another adventure? Ready to start moving again?"

The Mabari whined and cocked his head towards her.

"Yes. I will just be us...and Zevran and Oghren."

He barked and wagged his nub.

Isabelle looked towards the ground and sighed, "No, he's not coming with us."

He growled, ears low.

Isabelle smiled. "I'm sure you can bite him another day. I'm not going to take you up there just so you can bite him. I don't want to see him."

The Mabari took a few hesitant steps back and lunged in the direction of the main keep, barking shortly.

Isabelle brought her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "I can't stop you, but please hurry. We're leaving now I don't want you to have any problems finding us."

The Mabari practically snickered as he trotted off a few yards and then ran full speed towards the keep.

Isabelle smiled to herself, wishing for a moment she could be there when he did bite Alistair.

Zevran and Oghren stepped out of The Pearl. Oghren was clearly still drunk and had a full tankard in his fist. He raised it to Isabelle in offering, "Hair of the dog that bit you?"

She stifled a small giggle at biting dogs but turned her nose up and practically her stomach at the idea of more ale. "No, thank you," she said holding one hand to her mouth and shaking the other at the ale.

"Suit yourself," Oghren grunted and took a swig.

The three started the careful task of leaving town. It was still too early for much to be going on. Shop keepers were just starting to roll out their shops, but none took much notice of them. As they made their way out to the main part of Denerim, Isabelle halted in front of the Chantry doors. She turned towards them, eyes scanning the front of the building.

"Do you need time to pray?" Zevran asked somewhat surprised.

Isabelle rolled her eyes annoyed. "Have you ever seen me need time to pray?" She started digging through her pack as she walked towards the right of the doors and up to the well that they had previously used for an assignment. She pulled from her pack a handkerchief that wrapped around a dried brittle rose. She held it above the well, gave it one last look, and dropped it.

Isabelle turned around, her eyes were distant and glossy. Zevran walked up beside her and slung his arm around her shoulder and started walking her towards the main gate. "That is the perfect place to leave dead things," he whispered softly.

Isabelle nodded slightly and leaned her head against Zevran's shoulder.

"With every step it gets easier," Oghren spoke up, sounding surprisingly sober as he took in her pain, and patted her lower back.

Isabelle stood up strait and pulled independent from Zevran. She smiled at both of them as they crossed through the gates to the city. "I'm grateful for friends like you."

"I'd give it a few days before," *hic* "you make that decision, lass." Oghren started to stagger a bit, sloshing his ale. He laughed gutturally. "You're about to see a new side of Ferelden through ale soaked eyes."

They made their way down the road. Off in the distance Isabelle could swear she heard a loud yelp of pain. Within a few minutes the Mabari ticked up behind them, tongue lolling, mouth smiling.

"Good dog," Isabelle said darkly as the Mabari pushed his head up under her hand at her side, "Good dog."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all those who R&R. Shout out to NuitNuit for writing the Honeyed Peach and letting me name drop it last chapter! She is an amazing writer. I especially am in love with her Zevran. If you haven't read her stuff, do so!

I'm coming out of a writing pause (I'd say block but really I just haven't had time) – so expect more updates to this story. I'll be moving on more to one shots of their travels across Ferelden ultimately to the Circle return, rather than step by step.


	5. Chapter 5

"But he punched me!" Isabelle screamed, laying supine on the ground, holding a cold bloody rag to her nose.

"Of course he punched you, Bella," Zevran said very matter-of-fact, while tossing out a straggler from the inn.

The room lay in a heap of turned over tables, glass shards, and broken chairs. There was blood splattered in little sprays on a few of the walls. Oghren sat in a chair, kicked back against a wall on two legs, his hands interlaced behind his head. He had a sparkle to his eyes and a wide grin across his face.

Isabelle kicked her legs in a fit of frustration. "What do you mean of course he punched you?!"

Zevran dusted off his hands, set upright an over turned chair, and took a seat. "Bella, you called his mother a Mabari scrotum. Men are very protective of their mothers."

"But he called me a whore!" Isabelle winced as she moved the rag away from her nose to look at the blood. She scoffed quietly. "My first bar fight."

"That wasn't your first bar fight, darlin'," Oghren chimed in, looking down his nose towards her. "You didn't hit anything aside from the floor."

"I just don't get it. Why me?" Isabelle shrugged the question as she started sitting up. She sniffed and winced again. She leaned on her left hand and pulled her legs up to give her some support. The bloody rag back to the trickling nose. "I didn't even know him."

"Well, lets consider this," Zevran slouched in his chair, crossing his feet at the ankles. He brought his hands up and tapped the tips of his fingers together in thought. "First, you're a mage. You know how the uneducated feel about mages."

Isabelle winced at the word 'mage.'

"Second, you were the King's lover."

Isabelle winced at the word 'were.'

"Third, you are a Grey Warden and the Hero of Ferelden."

Isabelle winced in general.

"You have risen above your station, my dear. Something that these back-wood yokels will never be able to do. While you may inspire the nation with your strength," Zevran said as he sat up, pulling his legs back. He leaned forward to look at Isabelle. "You intimidate the common man and draw out of them jealousy. These people who don't know you, see you as the weaker sex..."

Isabelle interrupted, face scrunched in annoyance, "Wait, wait, wait. You're saying I'm an easy target because I'm a..."

"Girl!" Oghren laughed a big hearty belly laugh and slapped his knee. The action brought his tilted back chair down to all fours with a thunk. He was laughing hard enough that tears brimmed at his eyes. "That is rich. You? The weaker sex? Oh this is going to be good. We could be fighting everywhere we go! If you could just learn to take a punch..."

"Bah, I should have just zapped him," Isabelle said, removing the rag from her nose. The blood had finally stopped.

Oghren shook his head quickly, the corners of his lips tugged down in a small frown. "Girl, this is your first lesson in the art of the brawl: It isn't fair bringing magic to a fist fight."

Isabelle looked to Oghren inquisitively. "You're going to teach me to fight? Why?"

He laughed again. "Why not? This is a reality we need to accept. People are not going to be nice everywhere we go. People are going to want to see how they match up to you. I can't fight all your battles for you, girl. Besides, if you hang out with me long enough..." A sinister grin appeared on his face. "you might find you like a good bar fight."

"Fine," Isabelle said, slowly getting to her feet. "Where do we begin?"

"Outside," Oghren said shortly. "You coming, elf?"

Zevran shook his head no. "I need to go into town and pick up a few things before we leave." He got to his feet and walked over to the innkeeper. He started handing him several sovereigns. "This should cover the damages, my good man."

The innkeeper eyed the sovereigns, bit one, and nodded.

The three walked out the front door of the establishment. Zevran took a left toward town while Oghren and Isabelle headed right. It wasn't long before Oghren spotted a clearing at the edge of town. It was a small side yard to an abandoned cottage. The grass was a little overgrown, but the brush that surrounded it gave it a little privacy from prying eyes. There was also an incline to the yard.

"This should do," He affirmed. Oghren lead Isabelle to the middle of the clearing, circled around in front of her, and squared his shoulders. He placed himself on the uphill part of the incline so he was close in level with Isabelle's height. "Alright, hit me."

"What?" Isabelle said, eyes wide.

Oghren sighed and rubbed a grubby hand to his forehead. "How am I going to teach you to fight if you don't hit me. So, hit me!" He said a little more forceful.

"Oghren, I'm not going to hit you. Maybe this was a bad idea," Isabelle turned to walk away.

Oghren raised his hands dismissively, "Fine, fine, it's not like you could have hurt me anyway. You're just a girl after all," His eyebrows raised to emphasize the insult.

Isabelle turned to face him, eyes in scowl, arms folded across her chest defiant. "Oh no. You're not going to gall me into fighting you with petty insults."

"I'm sure your pansy little mage hands can't even make a fist." He put fists to waist and started raising his voice.

"Pansy?" Isabelle held her hands out to look at them. "I'll have you know my hands are not pansy!"

"Girl hands are for nothing more than making me a sandwich and perhaps..." He waggled his eyebrows while looking down towards his crotch. He opened his mouth to say more, but, POW, Isabelle brought a fist to his temple in a jab.

Oghren had been caught off guard. His feet rocked slightly, but he didn't fall. Instead he doubled over in laughter. Isabelle shook her hand out, eyes wide in pain.

"Dammit!" She yelped. "Son of a whore! That hurt!" She hopped around a bit shaking the hand.

"Come 'ere, girl," Oghren stifled further giggles. "Look." He balled her hand back into a fist, holding it at the wrist. "You hit me with this side of your hand," He said, pointing to the ring and pinky knuckles that were already turning purple with a bruise. "You need to hit me with this part." He pointed to the pointer and middle knuckle. "Otherwise you'll break your hand. Now heal yourself, so we can try again."

"But you said no magic in a fist fight," Isabelle raised an eyebrow towards him.

"Bah, this is practice." He squared his shoulders back to her and watched her heal her hand. "Hit me again."

Isabelle rubbed her fist. She had a tiny internal conversation with herself, shrugged, balled up her fist and rocketed a punch to his nose. His head jerked back and came forward. He wiggled his nose and blinked his eyes. "Better, but lets talk about punch locations. You are most likely going to be fighting men, men that are bigger than you. Now, don't get all huffy on me when I say that, but you need to consider your opponent. If they're picking a fight, they've most likely been in a fight. Fist to face is very common. You need to consider softer locations, like the neck."

"You want me to fight...dirty?" Isabelle asked rubbing her fist still.

"There is nothing clean about a bar fight, girl. Yes, I want you to fight dirty. Look, this is how you box ears." Oghren brought flat hands quickly to Isabelle's ears in a clap.

Isabelle's head rang and everything muted. She fell to a knee holding the sides of her head. "Maker's mercy! Oghren that really hurt!" She shook her head to rid herself of the sensation. Oghren pulled her upright.

"Exactly! Pair that with a punch to the throat, kick to the crotch, or thumbs to the eyes, and you're well on your way to winning a bar fight." Oghren grinned proudly.

Isabelle dug a finger in her ear and moved her jaw to the side trying to rid the last of the ringing. "Huh. Ok then."

"Going well?" Zevran's voice rang up from behind the brush as he made his way around into the makeshift training yard.

"She's not bad...for a girl," Oghren beamed. He didn't have long to gloat. Isabelle's flat hands clapped to his ears and a punch was landed square to his windpipe. He gurgled in smile and approval as he took a knee rubbing his neck.

"I'd say she's just not bad in general," Zevran grinned. "Here, these are for you." Zevran tossed a brown paper package to Isabelle. She missed catching it because she was smirking slyly down at Oghren shaking her fist so it bounced off her hip and plopped to the ground. Zevran sighed.

"Oh!" Isabelle snapped to. She knelt on the ground in front of the package and pulled the string to the bow. Inside the package there were clothes: a gray pair of wool pants, a simple white shirt with a loose ruffle around a plunging neck line, and a beautiful hunter green leather capelet. She raised a quizzical eyebrow towards him.

"Well, I thought we could avoid some of the confrontations around Ferelden if you didn't look so much like a mage," Zevran said, shrugging. "That, and I want to see more of your cleavage." He grinned to her. "Your robes are very modest, and it is just a crime I could not let you commit any longer."

Isabelle smiled and rose to her feet. She crossed the few feet between them and flung her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you," She said. "I don't think I've ever owned real clothes. That is very thoughtful, except the whole cleavage part, you cur."

Zevran returned the hug. He pulled back and smiled at her, shrugging. "What can I say? I'm just that kind of guy."

"Not to break up this touching moment," Oghren said, arms crossed. "But we've got work to do, girl."

Isabelle's shoulders slumped. "He's going to kick my ass for that throat punch, isn't he?" She whispered to Zevran.

"Yep," he replied. "I'll go gather our things and be back shortly so we can leave."

Isabelle sighed as Zevran picked up the package and made his way back out of the yard. She turned to face Oghren. He was grinning widely.

"This, girl, is called a sucker punch."


	6. Chapter 6

Never did he ever think he would see her like _this_. He leaned back and interlaced his hands behind his head and admired her heated beauty. She was glorious. Her eyes were dark and her lips curled in a sultry sneer. A loose curl brushed behind an ear. He watched, as her head tilted to the side, her long silky neck betrayed a quickening of her pulse. Her breath rapid, slightly ragged. She was intoxicating and intoxicated, but that didn't matter. He took advantage of all she had to offer him this evening. For tonight, she had given herself to him. Her memory of this would be foggy at best, with perhaps only a few prideful bruises to remind her of this conquest.

As she closed in on her crescendo, he knew he couldn't last much longer. Words he never thought she'd utter, spilled over her sweet lips. Oh, how she challenged his very soul. He did his level best to hide his brittle resistance from his face. She moved in such inviting rhythm that time itself seem to pause and hitch. He ached for her to finish. When he thought he could take no more she finally leaned in to him.

She whispered soft and low, "I think I've had about enough of this teasing, haven't you?"

He nodded mutely, afraid to open his mouth to speak, afraid he might confess his near breaking. He held his breath. Her smile became wicked. _Did she know how close he was?_ _Temptress. Witch._

She took a long, deep, steady breath. _Where on earth did she develop such control?_ She closed her eyes. The edge, she was so close. She reached forward...

...raked

...clawed

...and finally grasped

...the edges of the table and flipped it up towards the patron who'd just called her a whore. Oghren snapped from his trance, vaulted off his chair and tackled the wingman of Isabelle's intent. She'd already boxed her target's ears, grabbed his shoulders, and rammed a knee to his crotch. Zevran intercepted the back-up rushing to the brawl and had him unconscious with a sap to the back of the head before he was ever even a threat.

The fight itself was brief, all things considered. By the time the last punch was thrown and the last of the trouble-makers thrown from the bar, Oghren lay in spent heap on the floor of the tavern. A satisfied smile splayed across his face.

Isabelle stood over top of him, a sly little grin traced the corners of her lips. Zevran walked over and put an arm around her shoulder and looked down to Oghren. He leaned to whisper in Isabelle's ear, "You're starting to enjoy this, no?"

Isabelle grinned wider. "Let's just say it works out some frustrations quite satisfyingly."

Oghren giggled gutturally from the floor. His eyes remained unfocused on the world.

"You're going to be the death of him if you keep stringing along the fight foreplay," Zevran tsk'ed.

"Well," She said thoughtfully, as the pair started walking to the exit of the establishment. "If I can't have my toes curled in foreplay, I may as well curl someone else's."

Zevran gave her a devious little grin. "I'm an excellent toe curler," he added with an eyebrow waggle.

Isabelle's elbow landed soundly to the elf's ribcage. "Let's just go get something to eat, I'm famished." She looked over her shoulder, Oghren still unmoving. "Should we take him with us?"

"Nope, you should let a man sleep it off after something like that." Zevran's free hand rubbed his ribs and he winced slightly. "You know, your trash talking is really improving. I admire your creativity with the spoken language."

Isabelle shrugged, pushing open the door that lead out to the street. "What can I say? I've learned all my best skills from you two."

Zevran opened his mouth to say something about other skills he could show her, but Isabelle's eyes lowered in a scowl. He shrugged and smiled, eyes shining. "Am I that predictable?"

She nodded. "You're lucky you don't expose yourself the same way when you fight. You'd be a dead man by now." The two stepped out into the street and Zevran chuckled about exposing himself.


End file.
